


Soliton

by theplushiegirl



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Gen, M/M, Post-Battle of Scarif, more angst than the author intended, spiritassassin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-14
Updated: 2017-04-14
Packaged: 2018-10-14 16:02:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10539828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theplushiegirl/pseuds/theplushiegirl
Summary: Post Scarif, Baze and Bodhi bond over shared culture while Chirrut recovers. Baze reconnects with his forgotten roots, and accidentally becomes a sort of father figure to some of the young Jedhan rebels on Yavin IV.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [iwritesometimes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/iwritesometimes/gifts).



> Written for the Spiritassassin fic exchange, except I'm terrible at reading comprehension and totally missed BOTH deadlines, go me. 28ghosts was kind enough to let me post it up after the fact, so here goes! 
> 
> I chose the prompt: Something to do with Baze and Chirrut learning or knowing each other's languages; maybe in the context of a conversation with Bodhi, and they all speak a different dialect of Jedhan? Hope you enjoy!

The master switch is across a wide expanse of sand. Baze casts around, hand searching for a rock or something solid he can throw. He glances at the battery packs slung across his chest, but the latches holding them on take too long to undo. When he looks up Chirrut is standing, walking steadily toward the switch. His breath catches in his throat, strangled by the terror rising as blast bolts whizz by his partner’s head.  _ No, not like this _ , he thinks, and races to catch up to him. 

 

Chirrut will say it was the will of the Force. Baze silently agrees, though getting him to admit it is another thing entirely. He can hear Chirrut’s chanting as they walk, Baze’s gun churning out death around them even as the enemy blasters miss them over and over again. They walk back to back, Baze pivoting to provide cover fire. A stormtrooper pops up over the dune, arm cocked to throw a grenade. Baze shoots, the grenade falls behind the covering dune, and Chirrut finds the master switch. As soon as it’s flipped, Baze grabs Chirrut’s hand. 

 

“Come on!” He can hear the rest of the Rebels, cheering from their cover as one of them shouts into the comms, “Bodhi, it’s done! Get us outta here!” Baze turns to shoot behind them, sensing the trooper too late to detonate the grenade in his hand. He has time only to pull Chirrut down, try to cover him and take the brunt of the explosion. 

 

As the ringing in his ears subsides, he can feel Chirrut moving beside and under him. His left arm won’t cooperate, and he can tell from the oddly light weight that his power pack is done for, the battery loop severed. He drops the gun, hauls Chirrut over one shoulder, and runs. He can’t tell if any of the other rebels are following, but it doesn’t matter anymore. Baze can’t think beyond making it to the shuttle, to Bodhi and their way out. 

 

He knocks down a trooper outside the shuttle, the force knocking him and the grenade he was holding into the trees, where Baze doesn’t even register the explosion. He barrels up the gangway, shouting to the last rebel standing outside- Tonc? Something like that- to close the shuttle doors. Bodhi is already in the pilot seat, flipping switches and prepping for liftoff. 

 

“Go!” The doors are still closing as the shuttle takes off, Bodhi babbling into the comms to Jyn as he tries to get an idea of their location. 

 

Baze slumps on the cargo hold floor, hardly comprehending they’re alive. He turns to Tonc and the other rebel who made it in, he can’t remember the man’s name. They look at each other, then Tonc is stripping off his jacket as the other man helps lower Chirrut onto the grating. He’s still breathing, but his robes are tattered and bloodstained all up his right side and back. His left leg is a dizzying, tangled mess of blood and torn flesh. Baze lifts his right arm and cradles his partner’s head as Tonc sets to work with bandages, doing his best to stop the bleeding. The other rebel makes a tourniquet above the knee with the shredded jacket. 

 

The shuttle dips and whirls as Bodhi tries to avoid enemy fire, and he shouts back at them, “Someone get the- the door! Jyn and Cass-” 

 

Tonc races to the door and jams the button, ignoring how high up they are as the shuttle stabilizes over the platform. The two waiting there don’t wait for the door to open all the way, they scramble inside and collapse in relief as the door slams shut. 

 

“We’re in! Bodhi, go!” He doesn’t need to hear it twice, he guns the engine and aims nearly straight up. The shield around the planet shimmers and fades as Bodhi grits his teeth and makes the jump to hyperspace. 

 

Baze doesn’t register any of that, all he can see is Chirrut, his face smeared with blood and dirt. “Don’t go. Chirrut, please.” He grabs one of Chirrut’s limp hands and squeezes as he rests it against his cheek. He can feel a pulse, thready and weak, but it’s enough. He presses a kiss to the back of Chirrut’s hand, lips still touching skin as he takes a steadying breath. Another, and he starts the answering chant to Chirrut’s prayer, the words rusty in his mouth. 

 

***

 

The med bay is eerily silent as the stretchers are wheeled in- Cassian on one, Chirrut in another, Baze stubbornly running by his side. He realizes, belatedly, that there won’t be many injuries to tend to after this battle. Any of the pilots who make it back can probably patch themselves up, and the ones on the beach- they heard the horrified pilots’ reactions to the Death Star. There will be no collecting the wounded, no prisoner exchange now. As a medical droid wheels itself over to him, Baze shakes his head, and points to the stretcher already surrounded by medical staff.

 

“Him first.” It beeps, sounding indignant, and he starts to protest when he feels a hand on his shoulder. Bodhi, from the way it shakes and resettles, like a startled little bird. He turns to the pilot, ready to argue, but he staggers and nearly falls. The droid catches him and beeps again, angrily this time. 

 

“Sit,  _Shūshu_. You’re not going t- to help him by dying yourself.” Caught off guard by the Jedhan word, Baze slumps onto a stretcher while Bodhi fumbles with the latches on his armor. Bodhi grunts as he pulls the metal pieces off, “These weigh a ton, how did you manage-” but Baze is focused on the doctors next to them, talking hurriedly to each other over the still form on the stretcher.

 

“No way we can salvage-” 

 

“Surgery then, prep the operating theat-” 

 

“think we have enough bacta, nurse, check the levels in store room-” 

 

He’s fighting to get back up even as Bodhi and three nurses try to hold him down. He grabs at Bodhi’s flightsuit, pulls the slight figure closer as his consciousness starts to fade. “It’s okay, I’ll watch over you both.” 

 

***

 

Green. Wavering light. Beeping, faded and faraway. Murmured voices. 

 

***

 

Awake, for a few dizzy moments. Baze lifts his head far enough from the bed to see Chirrut, still in a bacta tank across the room. He reaches out with his right hand, closing it around air as he watches one hand in the tank mirror his. He smiles and closes his eyes again, exhausted but content. 

 

***

 

The next time he wakes, he manages to get Bodhi’s attention, resting slumped in a chair next to Baze’s bed. He looks small in Rebel fatigues, and his hair is newly cut, but there are bags under his eyes and the uniform is rumpled. 

 

“They took you out of the bacta tank a-after a few hours. Mostly- uh- abrasions and a few blaster graze burns. The d-doctor said you were pretty lucky except for-” He gestures at Baze’s left shoulder and arm, bandaged and wrapped close against his abdomen. “They’re not sure how much n-nerve damage there’ll be, wait and see.” He shrugs, avoiding Baze’s eyes as he talks. 

 

“When is he…” Baze clears his throat, unable to form words around the question, but Bodhi hears it anyway. 

 

“Th- the doctors aren’t sure. Took you a day to wake up after, but he. It m- might take a while. The um. Amputation. Takes a while to recover, and the risk of infection is high outside the tank.” His voice gets stronger as he remembers the words he heard the surgeons use, finding resolve in the more clinical terms. Baze nods, staring at the tank holding his whole world. 

 

Chirrut doesn’t look smaller, per se- he looks like some sort of delicacy, preserved in oil and put on display. His body is wrapped and surrounded in wires, sensors placed here and there to monitor every twitch and heartbeat. The skin is already forming new over the holes left by the shrapnel, painted vivid pink over skin turned sickly and pale by the green bacta. His left leg ends abruptly just below the knee. 

 

“Where did you learn that word, Bodhi?” Baze is still watching the tank, but Bodhi twitches as he registers what Baze has just asked. 

 

“Wh-oh. Um. I only know a little, from when I was a kid. We would go to the temple on holy days, and the- I liked how the monks sounded. When they talked to each other? But that was before-” he cuts himself off. Before the temple fell, before life on Jedha became even more difficult than it had already been. 

 

_ “Didn’t think you were old enough to remember the temple _ .” Baze replies in city Jedhan, and is pleasantly surprised when Bodhi answers, though he’s a little rusty. 

 

_ “Twenty and five. I was- child? Mum bring me.” _ He makes a face, hearing the mistakes but unsure how to fix them.  Baze closes his eyes and smiles as the language sets off a kind of happy ache deep in his ribs. Bodhi pats Baze’s hand, taking the expression for exhaustion, and whispers, “Sleep, rest. The Force is with him, he’ll be all right.” 

 

***

 

The next time he wakes up, the door to the room is cracked and Bodhi is keeping it closed with one foot, whispering urgently at whoever is on the other side. The medical droid by his bedside beeps, and Bodhi glances over. “No, no, l-look, you can see him later, okay? Promise, just- not right now!” He manages to get the door closed, and looks relieved. Baze crooks an eyebrow at him, curious. Bodhi sighs and sits by the bed, filling up a glass of water for Baze as he explains. 

 

“There are a few pilots, ground crew, they’re J- they’re like me. Joined the Empire, didn’t like what they saw, and defected.” He hands the glass to Baze and continues,  “A few of them have heard about you- well, about us, I guess, and they want to- to pray, I think. I- I keep telling them later, but they’re very insistent.” 

 

Baze nods, hands the glass back to Bodhi as he struggles to sit up. He waves off Bodhi’s attempts to help, and tentatively stretches his right arm. His left is still tightly bandaged, wrapped from fingertips to shoulder in gauze and tape. He prods at his side, feeling the new, tender skin where shrapnel found its way under or through his armor and power pack. He looks up again as the door opens, this time admitting a doctor in Rebel fatigues, followed by two orderlies with piles of towels and fresh clothes. 

 

“Nice to see you upright, Mr. Malbus! How are you feeling today?” Baze shrugs with his good shoulder, and gestures at the bacta tank. 

 

“How much longer?” His question comes out sounding more rude than he wants, but he doesn’t particularly care. The connection between him and Chirrut has always been strong, barely a step below actual telepathy, but through the tank it feels muffled. He can’t feel anything from Chirrut, and it’s like having a limb cut off. 

 

“He’ll likely come out today, but you need to understand, his injuries were more extensive than yours. It may still be a few days before he fully returns to consciousness.” Baze nods, and the doctor steps closer to check his bandaged arm. “I’m going to unwrap your arm, we can assess the nerve damage now that the skin is healed.” Baze only grunts, his attention still on the tank. He hears the unspoken “ifs” in the doctor’s words, the way he paused before he spoke. Bodhi, who has been standing awkwardly in the corner of the room, clears his throat as the doctor starts to undo the bandages. 

 

“I’ll um- I’ll go see if I can find some food? You’re probably hungry.” 

 

With the wrapping undone, the doctor looks over the injuries, tsking and prodding here and there. The skin from the shoulder to halfway down his bicep is pink and raw looking, a network of scarring that twists and pulls around his arm. 

 

“Can you wiggle your fingers, please?” Baze tries, and one or two twich. Again, and he manages a quick spasm before pain flares up his arm. He swears, long and low in Jedhan. The doctor is frowning, tapping at each of the fingertips with some small tool. 

 

“Okay, can you lift it at all?” Nothing. His left arm sits limp at his side, resistant to every attempt to get it to do anything. Another string of curses, and the doctor makes a few marks on his chart. “It looks like there’s been significant nerve damage, we’ll see about some physical therapy to improve mobility. But the rest looks good, no sign of infection or reopening, so you should be able to leave the hospital ward today!” His voice is chipper, optimistic and it makes Baze grit his teeth. The doctor and orderlies step out as Bodhi comes back, tray laden with food and mugs of caf. 

 

“Jyn and Cassian are in the next room over, they’re doing well. Wanted me to p-pass along their best wishes for-” He gestures at Chirrut, in the tank, and Baze feels a pang of guilt course through him. In the aftermath of the battle, he’d completely forgotten about Jyn and the captain. Bodhi sets the tray within easy reach, and they start their meal in companionable silence. 

 

“I- I think I’m going to stay here.” Bodhi speaks quietly, head down and fingers tapping nervously. 

 

“Figured. Good place for a pilot.” There’s no judgement or anger in his voice, but he’s disappointed that Bodhi feels obligated to join. 

 

“What about you? I’m sure there’s some way you can-” Baze laughs, a cynical, drained little huff. 

 

“There’s nothing for us here. I can’t work with these- politicians as leaders. They don’t know when to fight and when to run, they don’t get their hands dirty.” He shakes his head and continues, “Jedha was everything for us. We were trying to protect the people most affected by Imperial rule, make their lives better when we could. That’s what we’re good at, that’s what the Guardians did best.” 

 

Bodhi smiles, and says in imperfect city Jedhan,  _ “May the Force of others being with you.”  _

 

***

 

Later on in the day, the orderlies return, this time to drain the bacta tank and set Chirrut up in bed. Baze gives up his bed, switching instead to the armchair in the corner. His shoulder is too tender for a shirt, so he sits in only light linen pants. His coverall and Chirrut’s robes have been cleaned and folded, but they’re beyond repair. His armor sits in one corner, blasted to hell and back. It serves as a reminder that they both could have suffered far worse. 

 

Chirrut is still unconscious, but the readouts from the monitors look promising, according to one of the orderlies. Baze leans over in his chair and rests his hand over Chirrut’s, desperate to feel some shred of connection, some sign that Chirrut will wake up. 

 

***

 

Later on in the afternoon, Chirrut wakes briefly. Baze is startled out of a nap by the sound of a cry, voices in his head and in his ears screaming out in pain and fear. Chirrut is writhing on the hospital bed, tearing at the wires and leads connected to monitors as he cries out. Baze reaches out and flattens one hand over Chirrut’s chest, pushing him back on the bed. 

 

“It’s all right, Chirrut! I’m here! Calm down!” He manages to trap one of Chirrut’s arms under him, and grabs the other with his right arm. Gradually, the fit subsides and Chirrut falls back into unconsciousness. He stays draped over Chirrut for a long moment, catching his breath and working up the strength to return to his chair. Eventually he falls asleep curled around Chirrut’s right side, arm around his sleeping partner’s chest. 

 

Jyn opens the door once the noise has subsided, and peeks in quickly. When she closes it, Cassian is wheeling up to her, out of breath and excited. 

 

“They’ve destroyed Alderaan. The princess’ home world, it’s. It’s gone.” Jyn reels and presses her head against the door, the weight of her father’s work bearing down on her shoulders. Cassian grabs her hand and pulls her toward him, already whispering reassurances. 

 

“We’ll get them back for this, Jyn. I promise. It’s not the end.” 

 

***

 

There’s a book on the table the next time Baze wakes up, and a tray of caf and sandwiches. He settles into the chair by the bedside as he thumbs through the book. It’s an anthology of stories about the founding of Jedha City, written in a dialect that Baze is not wholly familiar with. He can parse some of the characters, but they sound off when he tries to read it out loud. He looks up at Chirrut when one of the words strikes a chord in his memory. 

 

“This is South mesa Jedhan, isn’t it? I can read it to you if you’d like.” 

 

No response from the bed. Baze flips awkwardly to the front cover. He begins sounding it out, starting and stopping as he gets used to the different characters, apologizing now and again over a particularly difficult word. He can tell he’s doing a terrible job at speaking the language, and he chuckles under his breath at the thought of Chirrut listening to him while awake. 

 

“That’s not city Jedhan, is it? It sounds different.” Bodhi is standing in the doorway, head cocked as he tries to figure out what Baze is saying. 

 

“Chirrut came from one of the villages in the Southern hemisphere, it’s the dialect they speak. Spoke there. He tried to teach me, but. Well, you heard.” He waves Bodhi in, who pauses in the doorway. “What, what is it?” Bodhi shuffles. 

 

“I- There’s a pilot out here, she’s. She’d like to, um, meet you. She’s Jedhan… But if you’re not up to it it’s okay! We all understand-” 

 

“It’s okay Bodhi, she can come in. For a little while.” Bodhi beams, and opens the door a little wider. A short figure in an orange flight suit steps in, and immediately puts her hands together in a sign of respect, before she offers a tentative greeting. 

 

“May the Force of others be with you,  _ Shūshu _ .” 

 

“May the Force of others be with you,  _ xiǎo mèi _ . Have a seat- Bodhi, you too.” They settle themselves on the floor, making Baze feel a bit like a school teacher. Bodhi shakes his head after a moment, realizing he’d forgotten to formally introduce the pilot. 

 

“Baze, this is Avan Sathel, she’s from my old neighborhood! She recognized the swears I was using the other day, she introduced me t- to some of the other Jedhans on base.” He ducks his head as she laughs, and continues, “Avan, this is Baze Malbus, he and Chirrut are- were? Um, Guardians.” He stops, realizing he doesn’t actually know if Baze is still a Guardian. Avan looks like she's about to burst with curiosity. 

 

"Mama used to tell me stories, I thought all the Guardians were gone! Please, can you tell me about them?" 

 

“Chirrut never gave up his faith, and during the Occupation he helped keep underground prayer circles going. He- he kept the heart of the city beating, kept as much cultural history alive as he could. He has more stories than I do, when he wakes up you can ask him all about the Temple.” Avan can’t keep the admiration off her face, beaming through the tears in her eyes. 

 

“He tried to make it so people had a place to go, where it didn’t feel so hopeless. He never wanted anyone to feel abandoned by the Force.”  _ Like I did,  _ he doesn’t add. His guilt over leaving the moon hasn’t faded over the years, though he’s been forgiven over and over again. He looks up at the figure lying on the hospital bed, feeling drained and longing for him to be awake, to tap his arm and chide him for being so boastful of his partner. He tunes back in to the two on the floor, sharing stories of the people in their neighborhoods, lapsing into another of the many splintered dialects of Jedha City. Bodhi pauses, catching sight of the exhaustion on Baze’s face, and taps Avan. 

 

“Hey, let’s go see if anyone has more news about the princess?” Avan is confused for a moment, midway through her description of her favorite market stall, but she understands the undercurrent and quickly agrees. As they walk out, Baze grabs her hand and squeezes briefly. 

 

“Stay strong,  _ xiǎo mèi _ .” 

 

Baze picks up the book again, ignoring the pain brewing at the base of his skull. Maybe, he thinks, he can get Chirrut to wake up purely by annoying him into consciousness. 

 

***

 

Over the next few days, there is a buzz of activity in the base. They launch an attack on the planet killer, and succeed. Baze spends his time in the medical ward, either eating with Bodhi, Cassian and Jyn, or reading to Chirrut. He feels numb to the excitement in the base, to the cheering crowds as news is relayed from the command center to the halls. Cassian is beside himself, but he’s under strict orders not to strain his injuries. Jyn runs herself ragged keeping him busy, playing cards with Bodhi or sending him for fresh caf or snacks when he starts getting twitchy. 

 

Baze can’t feel the exact moment the Death Star is destroyed, but he feels the echoes through Chirrut. He feels a savage thrill as the crew on board is snuffed out, tempered only by the brief flare of grief he feels run through Chirrut. That night he sleeps on the hospital bed with him, murmuring in his ear and running a hand over his short hair, describing all the new gray hairs under his fingers. 

 

He misses the celebrations, not interested in seeing how far their numbers have dwindled. Bodhi describes them afterward, eyes bright as he describes the neat rows of pilots, the temple filled with people all dedicated to fighting the Empire. Baze doesn’t have the heart to tell him, there will always be evil in the world. Destroying the loudest voice only leaves room for the next to fill its place. 

 

***

 

A week after Chirrut came out of the bacta tank, he grabs Baze’s hand and shocks him out of a fitful sleep. He lifts his head, and sees Chirrut’s blue eyes staring at a point just beyond his head as he speaks.

 

“Oh thank fuck. I was starting to think you’d sleep forever.” Baze kisses his hand, eyes brimming with tears as he laughs. 

 

“You thought  **I** was going to sleep forever?” He lightly smacks Chirrut’s chest, reprimanding but teasing at the same time. “Love, you’ve been out for almost two weeks.” 

 

Chirrut’s eyebrows knit together, forming a little groove in the middle that Baze fights the urge to kiss. When he speaks, his voice is hoarse, rusty from being still for so long. 

 

“Are you all right? Come here so I can see you.” He makes an impatient grabby motion with his hands, and Baze clambers up on the bed with him. Chirrut wastes no time in touching his face, his hair, his neck, and they still when he finds the sling holding up his left arm. His lips twitch, and he explores, gently running his fingers over the rippled, scarred flesh of his shoulder. 

 

“How bad?” Baze doesn’t answer right away, and Chirrut repeats himself. 

 

“They say I might be able to use it again, eventually. Can’t feel it, only hurts if I try to move it.” Chirrut frowns, and Baze wants to kiss it away, his love’s face isn’t suited to such melancholy expressions. He pushes Chirrut’s hands away from his arm, and presses their foreheads together. 

 

“I have you, that’s all I need.” Chirrut’s hands wind their way back up to his hair, a tangled and knotted mess from days of neglect. “How do you feel? I should find a doctor…” 

 

Chirrut uses one hand on Baze’s good shoulder to pull himself upright, his lips twisted in concentration. He winces as the healing shrapnel wound down his leg make themselves known, singing fire up and down his nerves. Baze steadies him, pressing against his right side as he catalogues his injuries. There are constellations down his left side, whirling pink scars that show the shrapnel pattern of the grenade, healed blaster graze marks shining pale gold under the new scars. 

 

He reaches down, following the trail of aches down to his left knee, and stops. He flexes his right foot, slowly, and tries to repeat the motion with his left. 

 

“Oh.” Baze presses a kiss to Chirrut’s shoulder, unsure what to say. He knows none of his apologies or grief would be accepted, understood or wanted, so he swallows them down to sit with the rest of his regrets. All that matters is Chirrut next to him, his mere presence enough for Baze to feel whole again. 

 

“They have much more advanced medical tech here, they can fit you with a prosthetic when you heal more.” Chirrut nods, his hands oddly still on the blanket. He turns back to Baze, a question in the tilt of his head. 

 

“W-where are we? What happened?” 

 

***

 

The doctor nods as Baze explains the memory lapse outside their ward room. He doesn’t seem entirely surprised, and Baze wants to slam him up against the wall. 

 

“It’s not uncommon with injuries like his. Between the coma and the initial trauma, I’m honestly surprised he’s awake so soon. Your uh- friend is very strong, Mr. Malbus.” Baze snorts. 

 

“More like very stubborn.” He thinks to correct the doctor on the nature of their relationship, but holds his tongue. He hopes to be gone within a week, no point in making themselves at home here. “So, what do we do?” 

 

“Well, there are memory exercises you can try. Having him tell you where he is periodically throughout the day. Meditation may aid in healing the damage. Mostly though, it’s a waiting game. He may fully recover, or he may always have trouble with short term memory.” 

 

Baze rubs the back of his neck and leans against the wall, processing the doctor’s words and wondering how things can ever be normal for them again. He looks up as footsteps approach, to find Bodhi smiling at him. 

 

“I heard he’s awake! How is he?” 

 

Baze doesn’t respond right away, unsure of his own reaction in the moment. 

 

“N-not good, eh?” Baze holds one hand out, making a see-saw motion. 

 

“He’s conscious, but. His memory, it’s. He keeps asking where he is, can’t stay focused.” One side of his mouth lifts, more of a grimace than a smile. “Not that different, really. But. Changed.” 

 

Bodhi tries not to let the disappointment show, but he doesn’t quite manage. He’d hoped that the stories his mother used to tell him could really happen. That everyone got to walk off into the sunset happy if they only followed their hearts. He pats Baze’s uninjured shoulder, unsure what else he could do to offer comfort. Even when he looked deflated and lost, Baze was an intimidating figure, albeit one Bodhi trusted with his whole being. 

 

_ “ _ _ Shūshu.  _ The others- the other Jedhans?” His voice doesn’t waver on the word, for once, and he continues in a stronger voice. “We were going to go out to the garden tomorrow, there’s. It’s supposed to rain. Avan thought it would be appropriate, to honor the lost.” 

 

The rain ceremony to usher in the wet season on Jedha was always Baze’s favorite time of year. Rain washed away the troubles of the previous year, it brought life, and it nourished the meager crops in the Temple gardens. The last year there was a Temple, Baze had missed the celebration. He'd been locked into the stocks at the city center for "fomenting dissent among the masses", according to the Commandant in charge of maintaining order. 

 

“I’ll check with Chirrut. If he’s up for it.” 

 

***

 

_ “Do you remember the rain prayers?”  _

 

Chirrut is combing Baze’s hair with his fingers, fussing out the knots as he comes across them and trying not to pull too hard. He’s found it’s easier to form sentences if he speaks in South mesa Jedhan, though it takes Baze a moment to translate in his head. He understands the lilting, musical language much better than he speaks it, as Chirrut is quick to remind him. 

 

“Not anymore. Only how it felt.” Chirrut makes a noise in the back of his throat, thinking and only half paying attention. Baze continues.

 

"I remember the sunset prayers. I think I can recite them in Basic?" He sounds unsure, more asking a question than asserting. Without prompting, Baze starts to recite, the words resonating through his chest as he pulls them from long-buried memories. After a beat, Chirrut joins in. 

 

“ _ In darkness, cold. _

_ In light, cold. _

_ The old sun brings no heat. _

_ But there is heat in breath and life. _

_ In life, there is the Force. _

_ In the Force, there is life. _

_ And the Force is eternal.”  _

 

Chirrut nudges Baze’s back with his forehead, brimming with joy. 

 

_“I knew you remembered!”_ He pulls his hands out of Baze’s hair, satisfied that most of the tangles are gone. He can feel the twinge of irritation radiating off Baze, softened by the halo of affection and relief surrounding him. Chirrut presses himself closer, melting into Baze’s broad back and basking in the feel of him. He senses the questions coming, and heads Baze off before he can voice them, nuzzling against the space between his shoulder blades as he speaks. 

 

_“We’re on_ Yavin IV. _I don’t know what year it is, but I don’t care. You are my Baze, and we survived something. Jedha is gone, and we are going to build a new life somewhere. Together.”_ He wraps his arms around Baze’s chest, twining both his hands around Baze’s right. He feels Baze’s lips on his thumb, and feels the warmth of his breath as he repeats “Together.” 

 

***

 

Jyn and Bodhi stand in the back of the assembly, Cassian standing on crutches between them. Chirrut insists on wearing the red sash from his robes, ripped and stained as it is with his own blood. The sight makes Baze feel sick to his stomach as he stands next to Chirrut, sitting straight and tall in a borrowed wheelchair. He ignores Mon Mothma, watching them from a doorway at a respectful distance. 

 

The Jedhan rebels, a group of maybe fifteen strong, have each brought some trinket or token that represents all they lost. For some, it’s a scrap of paper with names written carefully in a half-remembered hand. For others, a piece of clothing or a carved bit of wood. They had only planned to bury the trinkets, but as they were assembling Avan came running out of her quarters with a small potted plant. “It’s an uneti sapling! I saved a few seeds last time I went home, we can plant it as a marker!” 

 

One at a time, each Jedhan carries their item reverently to Chirrut, who touches it and their forehead, then they place it in a hole that Baze and Bodhi dug earlier that day. Baze is unsurprised to look up as the last person steps up, to find Princess Leia standing in front of Chirrut. She’s holding a lock of her hair, tied with a ribbon and a scrap of gray fabric. Chirrut closes his eyes as she approaches, hand shaking as he touches hers. “The Force shines around you, Highness. Such strength, to hold a planet on your shoulders.” He grips her hand tight, and she touches it to her forehead before she drops the trinket and retreats to the back of the crowd. 

 

Unplanned, unbidden, Baze speaks. 

 

“This is not our end. You are each a part of Jedha. Take it with you, tell the galaxy that we are here. We are not gone.” He repeats it in city Jedhan, and hears Chirrut taking up the thread with his dialect. Through a peal of thunder, he hears the gathered crowd repeating, “We are not gone” in their own languages, a dizzy mix of voices that swells his heart. 

 

Baze sets the sapling into the hole, covering the trinkets and roots with soil as he mutters a quiet prayer of protection and strength. The rebels will abandon the base soon, Baze expects, but the impermanence seems fitting for this small memorial. A moment sealed in time, carried on by the last remnants of Jedha. 

 

***

 

Six months later

 

***

 

Baze wonders, on mornings like these, if life is worth living after all. He’s up to his calves in dirty hay and bantha shit. There are blisters on the blisters on his palms from shoveling said bantha shit out of the stall, and the bantha in question has made it her life’s purpose to eat Baze’s dreadlocks. He only hopes she isn’t going to teach her unborn calf the same bad habits, or he’s going to hop on his speeder, catch a cruiser on its way back to civilization, and never look back, _just you watch, Chirrut._

 

His tirades never come to fruition though, and Chirrut knows he’s only complaining because he likes to. He revels in their simple life, far away from anyone or anything of any importance. _Pilgrimages_ , he has been heard to say, _should take some effort._ If anyone wants to hear the stories of Old Jedha, or touch the hand of someone who has touched an actual scroll of the Whills? Well. They’ll just have to find some way to get to Jakku, and find the crazy old men who live out in the wastes. 

**Author's Note:**

> Title is taken from a Steam Powered Giraffe song that fits Chirrut and Baze incredibly well: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gimrbABM3pI


End file.
